Bon Appetit
by Mareel
Summary: Picnic lunches for the away teams, gone horribly wrong.


Title: Bon Appetit!

Author: Mareel

Author's e-mail: Mareel@earthlink.net

Rating: PG

Category: Gen

Summary: Picnic lunches for the away teams, gone horribly wrong. 

Comments: This is a response to Taryn Eve's "Picnic" challenge on the EWB list. My thanks to betas Mara Greengrass, SueC, and smurf for their suggestions and encouragement.

* * *

**Bon Appetit!**

"Sato to Enterprise."

"Archer here. What is it, Hoshi? Where's T'Pol?"

Jon hadn't expected any problems from the survey teams during this mission; this world seemed like an exobotanist's paradise, and its exploration should been easy and pleasant--almost a picnic compared to some of the rougher places they'd encountered lately.

"She's continuing the survey work. Captain, can you tell if the other away teams are nearby? I think we got someone else's lunch. There's not much here that T'Pol would eat. I don't want to seem like I'm complaining, sir, but this looks pretty unappetizing to me too." 

Hoshi's voice had an amused overtone that Archer interpreted to mean that it had been her own decision to get him involved, probably against T'Pol's stated wishes. Jon relaxed a little, relieved that this situation probably wasn't going to be life-threatening.

"Why? What's the problem? I thought everyone would be pleased when I asked Chef to make up some picnic lunches for the away teams, once you told me that this survey was going to take all day."

"Well, sir, the idea was good, but I don't think you'd care for the look on T'Pol's face when she opened the basket and saw a bucket of barbecued ribs, some greasy-looking bread or rolls of some kind, and some kind of fishy-smelling sandwich. And a bottle of Budweiser, sir."

"Oops." Archer sighed, and continued. "I think Chef must have mixed up the lunch labels. It sounds like T'Pol got the special surprise I ordered for Trip. That's a catfish sandwich, by the way, and you'd probably better not let Trip hear you describe his mother's biscuit recipe as 'greasy-looking bread.'"

He shuddered a little, remembering just how long it had taken Trip to convince Chef not to meddle with that recipe. It had finally required a command decision-- over biscuits, of all things! Jon was sure his father had never thought about exploration missions in such culinary terms!

"What about your lunch, Hoshi?" he said, pulling his thoughts back to the immediate problem, "Could T'Pol eat some of that?"

"No, sir. I doubt it. I'm not sure what you think was in my lunch, but I'm sitting here under this planet's equivalent of a palm tree by the ocean staring at something you might order at the 'Rose and Garter' in Cambridge on a rainy day, if you take my meaning, sir. I don't actually know what this is. Maybe Malcolm would recognize it. He might even eat it. And you know T'Pol doesn't drink, so the Guinness would be wasted on her. Maybe I'll go ahead and drink it myself... Ugh. It's warm. Never mind, sir. What would you like us to do?"

"Just sit tight, Hoshi. I'll get back to you. I think Trip might be trying to contact me right now."

"Okay, Captain, but if lunch is going to be delayed, maybe someone could send down a swimsuit. It's pretty warm here, and the ocean looks awfully inviting. Liz...that is...Crewman Cutler could probably find my red bikini in the bottom drawer...in my quarters..."

Archer was glad that, for once, the bridge crew didn't seem to be paying any attention to his conversation. He was also glad that there was no visual transmission feature on their communicators, because his blush would have been more than obvious. "Fine, Ensign, I'll see what can be done. Archer out." 

* * *

"Trip to Archer. It's about this picnic lunch. Cap'n, I can't eat this stuff--this fish ain't even hardly dead yet! And how's a guy supposed to do a day's work just eatin' celery sticks and rice cakes?"

"Trip, I'm sorry. There seems to have been a transporter mix-up with the picnic..."

Trip continued, as though Archer hadn't spoken. "And Mal, well, he's gonna boldly go ahead with eatin' whatever Chef fixed for us, but I tell ya, he's gone pretty green around the gills on me here. There's some things a man shouldn't hafta eat, not even for England an' all."

"Commander, I assure you, I'm fin... unngh... pardon me... I'm fine. Lovely lunch, by the way." Malcolm's voice faded, as though he had turned his face away from Trip's communicator.

"I think we'd better get the Doc down here right now, Cap'n! Hey! Gimme that...I'm not done..."

"Captain, I'm fine," Malcolm said, his 'fine' as convincing as ever. It sounded like the armoury officer must have relieved Trip of the communicator, and Jon smiled to himself, imagining Malcolm's hand snaking out to grab it from the unsuspecting engineer.

"I do hope that Dr. Phlox doesn't terribly mind missing his favorite lunch meat. I believe I just ate it, though I'm not altogether sure what 'it' was. A beer would have been lovely, though. This tea tastes a bit off."

"My apologies, Malcolm. I appreciate all your efforts. You might be interested in knowing that Ensign Sato doesn't appear to be familiar with steak and kidney pie either. You might want to introduce her to it at some point, but skip the Guinness--she doesn't appreciate it."

"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry to have missed it. Perhaps next time. Reed out."

"Ah...Cap'n...there's just one more thing."

"What's that, Trip?" Something in his friend's voice made Archer sit upright and wonder what else could possibly have gone wrong. 'Just one more thing'--those were ominous words, especially from Tucker.

"Well, you know Travis set us down by this big river? We poked around for a while, and I finally figured out why this whole place seems so familiar in a way. It's that river! It reminded me so much of the swimmin' hole on my uncle's farm on the Chattahoochee, I just had to strip down and jump on in. I tried to get Malcolm to join me, maybe cool off a little, but he was all worried about security. I told him he could guard my clothes, but he must've gotten distracted, cause he says some kind of native critter showed up and ran off with 'em. Damn it! It ain't my fault this time, Cap'n--you gotta tell Quartermaster that!"

"Captain, I believe the Commander would appreciate it if someone could arrange to transport a fresh uniform to our location, including a set of blues, please."

Archer was sure the two men on the planet could probably hear his poorly muffled chortle. Malcolm had clearly taken charge of the tactical situation--commandeering the communicator from what he could only imagine to be a thoroughly embarrassed Trip Tucker.

It was all Jon could do to keep his voice impassive. "I think I have a pretty clear picture of the situation, Lieutenant. Some of the other away team members have also requested additional supplies for this afternoon; I'll have someone take care of it right away. Archer out."

The captain of the Enterprise leaned back in his chair and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. This was turning into a more interesting survey mission than he'd expected!

"Archer to Crewman Cutler. I have an assignment for you. Please meet me in my ready room in ten minutes." 

* * *

On the planet, in a clearing beside a wide, slow-flowing river: 

"You see, Commander, that wasn't so hard. I think he took it rather well, all things considered."

Trip nodded, still refusing to unwrap his arms from around his knees as he sat against the large rock from which he had dived into the river.

"But perhaps you'll want to reconsider the security arrangements for your uniform if you choose to plunge naked into an alien river in the future."

"Yeah, thanks, Malcolm!"

Nearly an hour later, the shimmer of a transporter beam produced a small duffle a few meters away from where the two of them had been waiting in silence.

"Finally!" Trip grabbed the bag and tore it open, as Malcolm snickered softly.

"What the... Ah, shit, not again! Goddamn transporter!"

"Trip to Archer." He stared at the silky scraps of red cloth in his hands. "Cap'n, I can't wear this!"

~the end~


End file.
